Love of the Past
by peanutsfan1929
Summary: Ten years after leaving school, and the rest of her world, the daunting memories won't leave her at rest. In a flash of loneliness, she jumps back into the place she once couldn't stand to be.
1. In the city

**Full Summery:** Ten years after leaving school, and the rest of her world, the daunting memories won't leave her at rest. In a flash of loneliness, she jumps back into the place she once couldn't stand to be. As she struggles to return to the life she once loved, old wounds make it difficult to love once more. Gone, but never forgotten, old love still resides within. Inspired by the song "1,000 Miles" although NOT a songfic.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Harry Potter world. If I did, I'd be rich. I am poor as mud. If you'd like to sue, please do, you could have my 5 Knuts, and I of course would get a ton of interviews, which I, being the coldhearted person I am, would charge for. Therefore, I would then no longer be as poor as mud.

**Authors Note:** This is just a little Hermione fic I started writing one day as an urge. I came up with the idea when I heard the song '1000 Miles' on the radio (although it's NOT a song fic). Thanks for reading, and I'm really bad at beginnings, so please try to bear with me! A thousand thanks to my new betas, Annika (on and RonaldWeasley (on without whom, this chapter would still be a pathetic little scribble of letters.

**Chapter 1: In the City**

A young woman with long, brown hair rushed through the crowded streets, eager to get out of the hustle and bustle of rush hour and just as eager to be out of the hard blowing wind. She had one block to walk from where the bus let her off, and a block was plenty.

"Hello, Ms. Granger," the doorman, Mr. Spickle, greeted her. The man was old, around eighty she guessed, and she had known him since she moved here, which was around eight years ago.

"Hello Mr. Spickle, oh, thank you," she said as he held the door for her. She sighed with relief as the warm fire in the lobby greeted her. Getting into the elevator, Hermione pressed '5' as she fumbled to get out the key to her New York apartment. She had moved here after leaving Hogwarts about nine years ago. Now, she was twenty-six, and had a job with the American Ministry on the School Board. _Had. _She had been fired today; Chelsea Montgomery had come out of retirement. She used to be head of the whole Ministry, and had started her days on the school board. But though Chelsea had retired over ten years ago, she had begun to miss her job, and came back. Since she had more experience than anyone, and Hermione had the least, Hermione was bumped off. She reached into the cabinets, quickly gathered the ingredients needed to make a BLT sandwich, and set to work. If anything were going to comfort her, it would be a nice warm sandwich, in front of a nice warm fire, drinking a nice warm hot chocolate.

She had half a mind to go get a book, but something kept her sitting there. Something made her ignore the urge to read, and so she just mulled things over in her brain. She slipped into a trance, letting herself relax in front of the fire. Before she realized what she was thinking about, she was crying. Life wasn't fair; she had worked so hard to create a name for herself here, in a different country. Ever since her parents had died she saw no real need to remain there, back in England. Both Harry and Ron had gone off to Auror training; it didn't really matter though…

_If you were here tonight, you would hold me in your arms…_

_Tell me everything is gonna be fine, while the world turns outdoors…_

_Sleep tight, close your eyes, an' wait for me, wait for me_

_You will see me coming home, just wait for me, wait for me_

_You can hold me in your soul, rest your fears, let them be_

_Wonder where you are today, as a tear falls down my face_

_Think of all the words you'd say, to try to put my mind at ease_

_Hold on tight, close your eyes, an' wait for me, wait for me_

_You can see me coming home, but just wait for me, wait for me_

_You can hold me in your soul, rest your fears, let them be_

_Just wait for _me.

A song from the Muggle radio station played in the apartment. _How true is that,_ she thought about the lyrics. _No_, she told herself forcefully, _that was years a_go_, forget about it!_ But somehow her thoughts kept going back to him. Ron Weasley. They had gone out for a while, back in seventh year. But that was then. He probably didn't even remember her now.

Tears running down her cheeks, Hermione got up, brought the dishes to the sink, and turned on the dishwasher. Not even bothering to shower, she went to bed. _Nowhere to go tomorrow anyway, why not?_ And that was her last thought before her mind sunk deep into unconsciousness.

Hermione blinked, "Oh…" she groaned, "turn off the sun." The bright morning rays were pouring in through the open window, making the room brighter than the light would have made it. Despite what she wanted to do, Hermione rolled over and glanced at the clock. 10:37. _I'm going to be late for wor-_ she started to panic, but then realized that she couldn't be late for work, as she didn't even have a job.

Hermione lay there for a few minutes, thinking through her possibilities. She could try to find another job here in America; after all, she had a life here… in work. Her job was her life.

She didn't have any friends outside of work, nor did she have any ties to hold her there. Pondering the possibilities, she also thought of returning. Though Voldemort had been killed in her seventh year, there were still many Death Eaters left uncaught at the time of her parents' attack. In a bout of frustration, Hermione had left England, leaving nothing but a quick note to the Weasleys saying nothing more than good-bye. Could she really arrive there and just step into their lives again? Of course not, but that wouldn't happen anyway. She could always go back and get resettled. She wouldn't have to make contact with any of her old friends if she didn't want to.

Why not? She really had nothing to stop her from doing otherwise- what with no job, no friends, and no family. Not really thinking about what the consequences would be, she started off. That being the reason she was standing outside New York International Airport, bags all packed, getting on a airplane less than three hours later, ready to return to her hometown. Muggle transport had always seemed so much more real to her. Simply Apparating made the entire concept seem unreal and insignificant.

Hermione was on the first flight of the day, and due to that fact, she had a row to herself, with the closest person sitting two seats ahead of her. She pulled out her Muggle CD player/radio, and played whatever station happened to be on at the time. She sat back in her chair, eager to start the flight. Slowly, she began to slip into the music…

_Two days past eighteen_ _He was waitin' for the bus in his army greens_ _Sat down in a booth, in a cafe there_ _Gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair_ _He's a little shy so she gives him a smile_ _And he said, 'Would you mind sittin' down for a while?_ _And talkin' to me_ _I'm feelin' a little low'_

Hermione normally didn't listen to country music, but didn't bother to change the station as tears slipped down her face.

_I cried, 'Never gonna hold the hand of another guy'_ _'Too young for him,' they told her_ _Waitin' for the love of the travelin' soldier_ _'Our love will never end'_ _Waitin' for the soldier to come back again_ _Never more to be alone when the letter says_ _My soldier's comin' home_

The song brought back memories… too many memories.

_Nine-year-old Hermione Granger stood outside her classroom, chatting with her friends. Her long, silky brown hair flowed down her back, she was the most popular girl in her year, and her best friend, Sarah, was telling her about Eric, her latest boyfriend. He had asked her out three days ago, she accepted. Now she was planning to break up with him, blah, blah, blah, and the usual story. Hermione half-listened to the latest 'dilemma,' and was mainly thinking about how stupid all of this really was. They were only nine or ten years old, changing boyfriends and girlfriends every other day for no apparent reason. Asking people out on a bet, dancing with someone for money. Hermione was a bystander; she watched as it happened to all her friends, the guys never daring to ask her out. It was all for the better she supposed, she most likely wouldn't have said yes anyway. Hermione had always hated her position in the 'social ladder' as it could be called, yet still knew that any other girl would kill for her position. She hadn't wanted all this, but when you've been best friends with someone since you were three days old, you couldn't very well stop being friends with them merely because you didn't want to be popular. Once she switched schools, when Sarah moved on to the public school, and Hermione to the private one her parents had enrolled her in year before. Then she could finally have the reputation she _wanted.

_That very day had been the one she had first decided to do it, to take the vow that changed her life. She had watched this happen for months; she had observed older kids getting into serious relationships then breaking up. That was the day she had decided, decided to make a fateful vow- a vow of hope, a vow of truth_

Six hours later, Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the floor as she pondered on the events of that day. Knowing that now might be her only chance before her parents came to get her for dinner, Hermione began to speak the words that had echoed through her head all day

"I, Hermione Granger, will never go out will any guy that I don't have true feelings for…" she started to say, but broke off as a song came on the radio.

"And I will never ever hold the hand of another guy…"

_She got an idea… taking a deep breath, she sung quietly, barely above a whisper, with her own words…_

"And I will never ever date a guy that I don't like, even if it means I'm alone at night…"

_The song ended, and as Hermione lay down, taking deep, ragged breaths, she knew that it wouldn't be regretted…_

Adult Hermione just lay there, curled up in her seat, nobody in the seats around her, trying not to think about the day that all had changed. She, Harry, and Ron had just left school; Harry and Ron were immediately off to Auror training- she wouldn't see them for four months if she didn't go too. But, despite her past, her experiences, she just… didn't want to be an Auror. Or, she did, but wanted to try something else first. The day Harry and Ron left, she did too. She hopped on the next Muggle plane and set out for America… It was just then that suddenly Hermione knew exactly what she had to do…

Hermione dozed off somewhere between the Mid-Atlantic and the London International Airport, dreaming of the memories she had tried so hard to leave behind. She woke up to a sudden clamber to get bags and briefcases an hour later, indicating the landing.

Groaning as she sat up, she stretched, loosening her tightened muscles. Then, quickly grabbed her things, eager to go… wherever she decided to go. Hermione knew what she needed to do, just not what she would do to get it done.

After picking up her bags at the gates, she proceeded to flag down a taxi, just to drive her around for the night. Hopefully she would be able to get a flat quickly, but until then she would stay in the Leaky Cauldron- mere blocks from one of the larger flat complexes in London.

"René-Lee's bookstore, please," Hermione said as she slid into the waiting taxi. With a tip of his hat, the driver welcomed her, and pulled away from the curb.

"A bit late to be going to a bookstore, isn't it?" the man asked politely, obviously trying to make conversation.

"Well, they're open until midnight this evening, I'm meeting a friend at the café nearby and then we're going home," she lied, sincerely hoping that the driver didn't know the shop well, or, if he did, that they were indeed open until midnight. One of the former must have been true though, because the man didn't question it. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she added as an afterthought.

"Mr. Raine Conary at your service," he said in a mockingly formal voice as he pulled away from the curb, then added in a more casual tone, "what's bothering you?"

"Um… nothing," she replied, hoping he wouldn't be able to see through her miserable attempts at a bright voice.

"You know, nothing really gets better by itself. It may seem to, but it's out there, biding its time until it comes back and haunts you."

No such luck. "Was it really that obvious?"

"It was to me."

Despite the number of times Hermione had been told not to trust anyone she didn't know, she couldn't help but trust the old man. "Oh, it's nothing important." She tried to lay her problems aside casually, but to no avail, he wouldn't drop the subject.

"Nonsense, it's clearly very important, if not to me, then certainly to you – or you wouldn't fret so much. But if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. It's simply that some things are… easier to deal with when you talk to someone." Hermione realized with a jolt that he was right, as memories came flooding back.

_Hermione and Ginny sat laughing on Ginny's bed, her fellow 5th year classmates studying in the common room._

"So… what's going on in the wonderful world of Harry?" Hermione asked, stifling a giggle as Ginny sighed ominously.

_"Nothing."_

_"No, really, what's the deal?"_

_"Nothing, I swear," Ginny looked at her hands._

_"He still doesn't know, does he?" Hermione said sympathetically._

_"No…" Ginny stood up, and turned around, fingering the emblem of a necklace- a black cord, with a green stone, which had a silver vine pattern over it. "He has no clue." She sighed again, "But it's better this way. He's never had feelings for me… never will. At least this way I can be his friend." She sat back down on another bed, across from Hermione, belonging to a girl named Heather._

_"Ginny-" Hermione began, but was cut off a moment later._

_"No, really…" Hermione could tell that Ginny was reflecting on the past few years, trying (unsuccessfully) to put her feelings behind her again. Trying to bury them like a pirate might bury treasure. Ginny had tried to convince herself that she _didn't _care, that she was over him. She even tried to like other guys – Michael Corner, Dean Thomas, Sean Parlet… the list went on. But always, always she returned to Harry. "It's better than turning red every time he enters the room, better than embarrassing _him_, for my own sake. And it isn't really for my own sake, it's hard for me, too, hard to ignore it."_

"I know, Ginny, I know how you feel…" Hermione hated seeing her best girlfriend like this, but there was nothing she could do, Ginny would have to sort things out for herself.

_"No you don't," Ginny interjected, her voice rising in what seemed to be anger, but what Hermione knew was frustration, "You don't know what it's like, you really don't. You like Ron, yeah, _everyone_ knows it. _Everyone_ can tell, and he likes you. You were friends first, and then, when you both admitted it, you started going out. You _knew_ he liked you all along; it was just getting him to admit it that was the problem. But no, not only does Harry not like me in that way at _all_, but also he knew I liked him, and now, is _happy _that I don't anymore. He said to me just the other day 'I'm glad you've gotten over that silly crush of yours, Ginny, it's much nicer to have you as a friend, when before I couldn't say two words to you…' Do you have any idea how clueless he is? For _five years _he saw me as nothing more than Ron's little sister, who happened to put her elbow in the butter dish every time he entered a room" Ginny was breaking down in front of Hermione, but she didn't care. Ginny was her best friend, the one she could talk to about… anything. No matter how weird it was._

Hermione missed those days, she just wished she could… but no, too much time had passed.

"You know, you could always go talk to this person." A voice jerked Hermione back to present day thoughts.

"Wha-? How did you?" Hermione started, but was silenced a moment later.

"I could tell, sweetheart, you miss someone… I say, go talk it over. Whatever happened between you, don't let it mess up your life. Trust me, just relax a bit and," he paused to wink at her over his shoulder, "chances are, they miss you too." With that, he pulled up beside the curb, outside of the brightly lit Book Shop, and let Hermione out onto the jostling sidewalk filled with evening shoppers.

Hermione took a deep breath of the crisp night air and walked slowly into the Leaky Cauldron, hoping nobody in there would recognize her.

"Excuse me." She edged her way through the night crowds: families visiting London for the day, generally the Leaky Cauldron's normal weeknight crowd and what looked suspiciously like a group of hags in the corner. They were eating an enormous plate of what smelled- even from a distance- like raw liver.

Mustering her courage, Hermione walked smartly up to Tom, who was still the innkeeper after all this time, and (praying he wouldn't recognize her) said, "Hello, I was wondering if there were any rooms available for this evening."

"Sure are," he said without looking up, "Single room, or double?"

"Single," Hermione answered quickly, looking around nervously.

"An' I'll need your name…" Tom, the innkeeper, had turned around by this time, and was just about to dip his quill in ink, when he caught sight of Hermione. "Hermione Granger?"

"Err…" she hadn't been counting on this. She hardly knew Tom; even in her Hogwarts days she had only stayed at the Leaky Cauldron once, and that was before third year. "Yes…"

"Why, young Ron Weasley was here just yesterday with Harry Potter, but I haven't seen hide nor hair o' you for… must be abou' a decade."

"Yes… I-I went to America, I was on the school board there for ten years."

"Stoppin' back for a visit then I suppose?"

"Uh… yeah, something like that." Hermione avoided his gaze as she carefully studied the couple nearest her. A blond beauty was laughing outrageously at something her boyfriend had just said, and seemed to have not a care in the world.

A few minutes later, Hermione was dumping her bags down on the bed, collapsing next to them. The day's travels had more then worn her out, and the twenty-eight year old was asleep in the time it took to kick off her shoes.

The next few days passed quickly, as Hermione spent her time leisurely floating through Diagon Alley. She visited Gringotts, and got her money transferred from the bank in New York. Not to mention the fact that Hermione was happy at last, having found a nice flat in an upper scale part of town, not too far from the Leaky Cauldron. So far she had been lucky, and none but Tom had recognized her, nor had she recognized anyone else. The twins still had premises in Diagon Alley; it was, in fact, one of the larger shops in the area. But Hermione had avoided that end of the street and had yet to run into any of the Weasleys, much to her relief.

Rolling over in bed, Hermione didn't want to get up. She wanted to lie in bed forever, sleeping away the days, weeks, months, even years. But as the merry sunlight filtered in, wishing her out of bed, Hermione simply couldn't avoid it.

She rolled out of bed, and made herself a warm breakfast- for even though the sun was out, the air was bitter, and so was the flat.

Mulling over her coffee and waffles, Hermione addressed a subject that hadn't been necessary before. Sure, she knew it would come up, but had carefully avoided it, determined to find a way around the current issues.

She had to get a job. Not a wizarding one, no, not at the moment. With both Harry and Ron in the Auror division, Arthur in his old position, and who knew how many of her old friends in other divisions… no, it was too soon, she had to lay low for awhile until she got used to being back. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

So get a Muggle job and snap- problem solved! Right? Hermione thought so… until realization dawned upon her, and she realized that without even having proof of leaving a Muggle school, where _could_ she get a job? Sure, there was always the little diner down the block… but honestly, that would have to be a last resort.

_The first song I used is 'Wait For Me'; it belongs solely to Laine Larsen;_

_The second song I used is 'Travelin' Soldier' which belongs to the Dixie Chicks._


	2. Meetings

**Chapter 2- Meetings**

"Cream and sugar?" Hermione had done it. Despite over a week of searching, she had yet to find a job that would accept her with no proof of education – except for a janitor position in the flat itself – so here she was, a waitress in a diner. A job meant for your average, broke, lifeless teenager; all of which she was not… ok, so she was lifeless. Hermione admitted it. After all, she had been able to up and move continents in twelve hours, not telling a soul where she had gone, and nobody even noticed. Frankly, she thought that qualified as lifeless.

"Yes," a grumpy old man leaning heavily on a cane snarled at her, scorning. Hermione grimaced, trying her best to be polite and friendly. She finished making the man's tea and set it in front of him as she wandered over to a 'colleague.' Thirty-five year old Susan Lanstrom, the closest in age to Hermione, was by far the most pleasant company she had kept in awhile. Back in New York Mr. Spickle had always treated her kindly, but besides him, her acquaintances reached to nobody outside of work – and there she didn't exactly have anyone who fit the description of 'friend.'

"How's things goin' 'Mione?" Susan asked, speaking in a heavy Southern-American.

"Not too well, Susie, how you manage to be bright and cheery _all_ the time is forever beyond me."

"You get used to it, I can't really afford not to be!" she said jokingly, although the situation was true.

"Yeah, well, I think this is one of those jobs out there that are reserved for saints, and are underpaid drastically." Hermione sighed again as she sunk down into one of the hard stools behind the counter, wishing for her own armchairs in her own living room.

"Well, I won' comment on the payment, but s'riously… be righ' back," Suzie started to say, but was swept away a moment later to push tables together as a group of about fifteen people walked in.

Hermione stood up again and looked around to see if anyone needed help. She spotted two men sitting together, way off in a corner, and deep in a discussion.

"Can I help you?" Hermione tried her best to sound cheerful as she stood above the two men.

"Well, blow me down, lookie here!" one of them, who reminded Hermione strongly of a solid block of steel, said in a voice that sounded somewhat familiar. It was like seeing a long lost friend from primary school that you know existed, but had quite left any immediate memory. He was muscular and had a deep tan that made it look like he was outdoors quite a bit.

"Excuse me?" Hermione was appalled by the man's behavior and quite taken aback as he looked her deep into the eye.

"Hermione Granger, correct?" the other spoke up. He looked less like the former, with a slightly lighter skin tone and a thin build.

"Ummm… yes…" she tried to remember how she possibly could have known them. Perhaps a brief exchange of words in Diagon Alley long ago? But try as she might, she just couldn't place a finger on them. "Do I know you?"

"Well you ruddy well _should_ know us," the first said as if this were to be obvious. "We only practically lived together for seven years." It was clear he was fighting back a snicker.

"I'm sorry, no light bulbs being lit here."

"Oh, come on, Hermione, you know us, unless someone performed a cunfun-" the first man started to speak again, but was interrupted as the other plainly kicked him under the table.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, "What if it _isn't_ her? Come on mate – think, would Hermione really be working in a _diner_?"

"Well, no…" he seemed to contemplate for a second. "But think, how many Hermione Grangers actually exist?"

"Well, only _one_ that _we_ know of, but still! Be careful! For all we know this is some random Muggle, thoroughly disgusted at us!" They seemed to think Hermione was invisible, or perhaps thought she couldn't hear them, or… something, because she somehow doubted that they seriously would be talking about this in front of her. She tried not to listen, but soon realized she wasn't succeeding and cleared her throat.

"Excuse us, we're sorry. We just thought… never mind."

"Um, no problem…" Hermione was thoroughly confused. Why were they _sorry_? But she didn't have time to contemplate this as he launched into another speech.

"You know, you look a lot like our best friend from… er… school."

"Yeah, splitting image – only… nothing. Mirror couldn't have her exact appearance better," the other agreed, nodding.

"Sure… so, is there anything I can get you two?"

"Just a coffee," one said, not taking his eyes off of her, staring as though he were a student trying to figure out a particularly difficult problem on a maths assignment.

"Same," the other said, raising his hand slightly to enunciate the statement as he looked from Hermione, back to his friend, back to Hermione, over and over again, with generally the same look as the other had.

"You know, that look really doesn't suit you," Hermione said jokingly, not knowing why she felt so at ease in their presence.

"What look?"

"That one, the 'thinking look', it doesn't suit you."

"And you come to this conclusion… how?" His faced relaxed, and then turned into a look of realization he exclaimed to his friend, "It _is_ her! It _has_ to be, that was the one thing she told me nearly every time I actually attempted to figure something out."

"Coincidence," was the only response as his eyes resumed their shifty motion.

"Now _that_ look on the other hand… you must have been born with it, fits the face so well." Hermione spoke up as the first man looked at her again, his face falling into confusion.

"See!" he said to his friend excitedly, "it _is_ her, you owe me five Galleons!" He looked very proud of himself, but Hermione didn't dwell on it, as several other tables were calling to her.

Hermione noticed that as soon as she stepped away, the men's heads went together, and they began whispering hurriedly.

"What was that all about?" Susie asked Hermione, coming up behind her.

"I'm not really sure," Hermione answered truthfully. "I remember them from somewhere, I just can't put my finger on it…"

"Just don't let anything they say get to you. Half the guys in this world are idiots and the other half are dead."

Hermione smiled weakly, and quickly busied herself with another table's order.

"Are you _sure _you don't remember us?" the redhead pleaded longingly as he looked back over his shoulder on the way out.

"Sorry," Hermione shrugged. "I don't."

He was clearly very disappointed and sighed as he turned around. Hermione was rather sorry as well, even though she didn't know whom this person was. But just as Hermione turned to get her things behind the counter (she would be getting off in a few minutes), she caught sight of a thin, white scar on the back of the redhead's neck. She wouldn't have noticed it, but it contrasted greatly with the tan of his skin. Just at that moment, memory flooded through her.

"_Ron_!" she practically screamed, running after her old best friend just as he was walking out the door.

He whirled around. "Hermione!" His face lifted, and he looked as though a thousand pounds had been taken off his shoulders.

Hermione went over to him, trying to keep herself from running as she saw him standing just inside the door. Exchanging a brief hug, the guy Ron had been with earlier poked his head up beside Ron's.

"Hello?" he waved his hand in front of her face jokingly. "What, I don't get a 'Hi'?"

"Harry?" She asked, looking at him disbelievingly.

"Spot on!" he said, grinning as he hugged his old friend.

"But what happened to your scar? And… are you wearing contacts? Your eyes are blue!"

Harry smiled, "You're not supposed to recognize me. We both just got off Auror duty. I have to perform glamour's to avoid being recognized." He admitted sullenly.

"Well they certainly work pretty well!" she exclaimed, caught up in the excitement of the fact that she was with her best friends again.

"Wait a minute," Ron said suddenly, looking at Hermione. "Wait a minute, how did you remember us just then, when you didn't before?"

"I saw the scar on the back of your neck, and I remembered!" she admitted, smiling slightly at the oddity of it.

"That's weird…" Ron started to say as he was interrupted by Harry.

"How do you know Ron has a scar on the back of his neck?" Harry said wonderingly. "Wait a minute, Ron has a scar on the back of his neck? _I_ didn't know that Ron had a scar on the back of his neck. Did you know you had a scar on the back of your neck?" He asked Ron, speaking very quickly by now. He then turned to the amounts of people staring at them from their seats. "Did any of _you_ know that Ron had a scar on the back of his neck? Because I most certainly _didn't know_ that-" Harry would have appeared to be a madman by the scene he was making in the diner.

But Ron didn't seem to care as he spoke in a light voice, slowly saying, "I have a scar on the back of my neck?"

"_Yes!_" replied Hermione, sounding exasperated at the amount of stupidity one could have. "But that's beside the point right now. It doesn't really matter," she pointed out matter-of-factly.

As they chatted, Hermione found out that since her leaving not much had gone on. Ron and Harry had both remained top in the Auror division, leaders of their units, working as partners in the business. Both had been offered numerous promotions, but declined. They didn't particularly want the desk jobs held by their so-called superiors.

Upon asking, Hermione told about her past few years. "Not much of a story, I know," she said, shrugging. "But really, not much has changed since…" not wanting to say 'Since I left,' she gulped, "since we last saw each other."

Harry and Ron both slightly squirmed at this point. Not one in the trio wanted to talk about Hermione's reasons for leaving, which nobody really knew. Hermione and Ron had fought the night before, and the two of them hadn't had time to sort anything out before Harry and Ron were called away to duty in the middle of that night. When she had gotten news of her parents' deaths, it had been too much to bear. She had left, as quickly and as quietly as possible, mailing her letter of resignation to Flourish and Blotts, where she had been working temporarily until she chose where she wanted to go permanently.

Hermione stepped off the elevator and walked slowly down the hall. Her eyes swept from one door to the next, "304…" she whispered to herself, looking at the numbers. "304… there it is!" Her voice brightened as her eyes fell upon the white door to Ron's flat. She stepped forward and knocked tentatively, unsure of herself.

"Come in!" Ron's voice rang out from within. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione turned the doorknob and let herself in.

"Ron!" she gasped, throwing a hand over her eyes.

"Hi, Hermione!" He said offhand, totally unfazed at the fact that his old best friend and ex-girlfriend, whom he hadn't seen in ten years, had just walked into flat when he was wearing nothing but his favorite Quidditch boxers that had Bludgers flying all over them.

"What are you doing?" Hermione replied, sounding scandalized, and obviously wondering at the sight of him standing – dressed as he was – in front of a mirror, with about fifteen small, pocket-sized mirrors floating around him. Wand in hand, Hermione could hear him muttering to himself as he directed the mirrors around.

"Ok… if you go that way… maybe here… where is it!" He was looking quite insane, craning his neck as he was doing everything short of beheading himself in order to see… whatever he was trying to see. "I'm looking for that stinking scar!"

"What scar?"

"The one on my neck!" he exclaimed, exasperated.

"Oh, that? It's right there!" Hermione strode over to him, and pointed it out.

"Where?" He craned his neck again, trying to direct the mirrors so he'd have a better view.

Just then, the door opened. "Whoa you guys! I guess when you said 'not much has changed' you really meant it!" Harry said with a grin, as he looked at his two best friends standing in front of the mirrors, one of whom was half-naked.

Hermione blushed and immediately stepped backwards, turning to give Harry a hug. "Oh you! That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Really? Because really, this should have been expected, I could have come later if you wanted some time alone. I know you have a lot to catch up on."

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she caught Harry's meaning. "What? No! I didn't mean it like that! Come on!" She started protesting, but broke off when Harry started laughing.

"It's ok, I know you didn't mean it like that. Relax." He grinned, and walked over to Ron. "So, what are you doing?" He grabbed one of the mirrors out of the air, and made a great show of running his hands through his hair, positioning it, and replacing it with a grin.

"I'm looking for that scar…" He muttered again, stretching to see into one of the mirrors.

"Yes, where was that?" Harry said thoughtfully, leaning over his friend.

"Are you two blind? It's right there!" Hermione said, tracing the outline with her fingernail, right under Harry's nose.

"Are you sure? I don't see anything." Harry looked at her curiously.

Just then, the door opened again.

"Hi everyone! Wow! Hermione, it's great to see you! It's been far too long!" Ginny Weasley said brightly, giving her old best friend a hug of welcome. "You two," she gestured to Harry and Ron, "have been gone for a month on assignment, and you still haven't gone home! Mum was outraged that you didn't even stop in to say hello last night! She wants all of you over for lunch. And she can't wait to see you again, Hermione!" Ginny explained quickly. "Oh, and Ron, by the way, did you know you have a scar on the back of your neck?"

Ron made a noise that indicated utmost frustration while Harry gritted his teeth and groaned.

"Can anyone tell me why I can't see this?" Ron asked loudly.

"Nope," Hermione said with a smile on her face, "but if we're meeting your Mum for lunch, you might want to get dressed first."

"Er… right." Ron blushed crimson as if it was the first time he had realized he was standing there half-naked. Harry didn't matter of course, since he was his best friend. And Ginny was his sister, but _Hermione?_ He retreated quickly to his room, presumably to get dressed.


	3. Gone but never forgotten

Chapter 3- Gone, But Never Forgotten

Ron, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley sat around a small, outdoor round table at the Café de Lune. The café was a small, but fairly nice and well thought of French café down the Muggle road from the Leaky Cauldron.

"So, how have you been these days, Hermione?" Ron's mother asked forcedly, in a voice that was entirely not her heart speaking.

"Oh, not too bad," Hermione replied, without much feeling to it. Ron was at her side, staring intently at her. Ginny and Harry were holding hands under the table at her other. It was rather concerning that this situation would have been entirely too normal several years prior, yet now was almost uncomfortable.

"That's good…" Molly responded, trailing off.

The quintet ate in silence for several minutes until Ron, needing to break the heavy quiet, spoke. "So, Harry, how are things coming in the Field Division?"

"Well, the new trainees aren't half bad. Certainly better than last year's bunch, and considering how good that group turned out I would say this year looks promising. Colin's decided Field Duty isn't for him, and he's working on training them. Dennis is among the new ones this year; I'm sure it's interesting from a training perspective to have brother teaching brother."

"Wow, Dennis is just coming through training? I mean, I know the program was lengthened and made much more complete, but he left school years ago."

"Oh, didn't you know? Dennis went through Healer training first, but later decided it wasn't for him. He decided to train to be an Auror and maybe become a field medic later."

"That makes sense," Ron said, nodding. "So, Hermione, tell us. Why were you working in a diner? And where on earth have you been for the past ten years?"

Hermione blushed crimson at the first comment and gave a half-hearted smile to the second. "Well… I've been in New York City…"

"As in America?" Ginny asked rhetorically, "That's bloody cool!"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley reprimanded, simply on pure instinct. Some things never changed.

"Well, I was working on the Ministry School Board during my time there. However, when the former Minister, Chelsea Montgomery came out of retirement, I was fired. A sequence of events, and no real decision or path ahead of me, made me decide to come back here. I needed a job and…" She trailed off once more.

Everyone waited. Waited for her to continue. Waited for her to reveal what had been an issue for years. They all waited for answers.

"And I didn't want to run into any of you…" she finished quietly.

"But why, Hermione?" Ron asked, a look of hurt on his face, "Why did you leave us? Why did you put us through that, on top of everything else we were going through?"

"I needed time, Ron! Don't you see? The war had taken so much from me… when it took my parents as well, I had to go. I couldn't just stay and not do anything about it!"

"Not do anything about it? Hermione, the war was over by then. Voldemort was gone!"

"He may have been gone, but all of us mistakenly didn't realize the full picture. Yes, Voldemort was the prime cause, but even with him gone, we were not saved. There were still hundreds of Death Eaters out there, trying their hardest to get revenge on all of us!"

"That may be true, but that is why we spent every day and every night searching for them. That is why we decided to go into the Auror Division. That is why we can never stop fighting." Ron ended his short, but powerful speech. Staring her straight in the eye, he spoke. "When you left, you caused more damage to this family than the Death Eaters ever could. Because, you…" he paused, "you left by choice."

Hermione sat in her small flat, her head empty of all thought. Ron had made an impact on her; she had always thought she had made the right choice. Hermione had doubts about everything else… but never about this. The one thing she had always thought she had done right was taking the time. Now, she was starting to regret.

She had left that day leaving nothing and everything. She had nothing but her own needs, her own uneasiness, and her own scars so fresh in her mind. She never thought about the scars reopened to everyone else. If you had told her that she was going to do that a year in advance, she would have called up St. Mungo's personally to book a room with Lockhart. She never would have though it possible to leave her friends' sides. The war really did change everything.

It changed everyone more than they wished to admit.

When she had left that day, so long ago, both Harry and Ron had been at Auror training in the field and were scheduled to remain gone for two more weeks. Ginny had been at training as well, but she wasn't quite to the point where she had to go away. Hermione had been researching jobs in her flat, for though she had enjoyed her occupation at the lower levels in International Magical Cooperation in the Ministry, she had had offers for many things in higher positions; therefore, she was researching them to scout her best options.

_Hermione set the _Ministry Guidebook_ aside and sunk down into a kitchen chair with a sigh, cradling her aching head in her hands. Gods she missed Ron. She missed Harry too, of course, but not as much as Ron. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she realized the extent of her thoughts. Her parents had been buried only three weeks ago, and she was sitting here, missing Ron. What was wrong with her? Death Eaters still roamed free, people were still dying daily. Yet the first thing on her mind was her boyfriend?_

How similar she was feeling now. Sitting in the kitchen of a lonely flat, thinking of Ron. Thinking of her parents.

_Inhaling deeply, Hermione stood up, and walked shakily over to the Floo, which for security reasons was connected to only four places – Harry and Ron's flat, the Burrow, her parents' house, and Hogwarts. Throwing a small handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, Hermione spoke._

"_Three-oh-five-four Glenwood Street, Birmingham." With a roar of green flames, and quite a bit of misplaced ash, Hermione was spinning off to the house of her youth._

Hermione shuddered at the memory of the house's appearance. Picture frames were smashed to pieces, broken glass from decorative ornaments and the like had littered the floor. Scorch marks from dodged and not quite properly aimed spells beset the walls, a painful reminder of the truth. She wondered what had happened to the house. It had been left to her, or so the Weasleys had informed her via letter. They sent her letters nearly daily for the first few weeks. She had opened and read then, but she had never responded. She treasured them, still had them somewhere, but eventually they had stopped coming with such regularity, and after a year or so, stopped coming at all. She should have known they would stop sending them if she never replied, but she simply couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't respond… she had to forget about what had gone on…

She shook her head briskly to try and leave the thought behind, but to no avail, it stayed firmly where it was. Ron had been everything to her back then, he always had, but especially then. He was always there for her, always ready with a loving hug of comfort. They wept together when it was a shared loss, and when it was one of her own he would ease her pain with silent love, for they didn't need words.

Hermione stood up suddenly and pulled out her wand, catching herself at the last minute that she couldn't Apparate directly to the Burrow; they would surely have the wards up. She sighed and adjusted, Apparating to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole instead.

She arrived in the alley with a pop, thankful that she had remembered where to go, and thankful that it was still there. A quick glance around told her that she was comfortingly alone and right where she should have been. The sweet scent of the bakery was wafting down from a small grate above, and Hermione had to fight to keep the memories of that very corner at bay. Many a time had she and Ron met in that very place, considered by themselves a "halfway point," but really it was an excuse to stay away from the Burrow and catch some time alone.

Hermione took a deep breath and walked into the streets with her head bent against the cold winds. There was a light snow falling, with the promise of more in the heavy clouds. The light slush that had accumulated on the streets and sidewalks was becoming increasingly brown, while the powder sprinkled atop the trees stayed crystalline. There was by no means a crowd on the streets, not compared to New York, but with the approaching holidays everyone was out to shop. With the snowy atmosphere adding to the feeling of returning home, Hermione's thoughts were flowing through her head at fifty miles per hour. What should have been faint remembrances of Hogwarts snowball fights and nighttimes by the fire were playing themselves out in her mind as if they were just yesterday. How she wished they truly could be, how she wished that she would wake up one morning and it would be the beginning of her seventh year all over again.

As impossible as it seemed, Hermione couldn't help but dwell on what she would do differently if that were the case. She would be nicer to Ron, first of all. She had been far too harsh on him about his schoolwork. She would have told her parents that she loved them far more often. She would have been braver in the final battle; come to that, she would have been braver throughout the entire war. She would never have let Ron go outside by himself that fateful night in their sixth year… she would have made sure they never had got to him. For that was one event that he had never recovered from.

Without realizing it, her feet had brought her right up to the door of the Burrow. Why exactly she was here, she didn't quite know. She felt like she needed to talk to Ron, but why had she not gone to his flat? She wasn't sure, but something had told her to come here. She could hear the family laughing and talking inside. They were having a family dinner. _I shouldn't be here…_ she thought to herself pessimistically. _I have no right to just barge in on their lives like this…_ She spun quickly around and made to leave silently when suddenly the door opened behind her. She gasped and looked back.

"Why, Hermione! Nice of you to join us!" Fred moved behind her, ushering her in with or without her consent.

"Ay, nice to see you again!"

"Been too bloody long!"

"Well it's about time." All came at her from Bill, Charlie, and Percy, each in a different direction.

Her sweeping gaze instantly spotted Harry and Ginny curled up together in front of the fire, engaged in a conversation with Charlie about the upcoming professional Quidditch season. Bill and Ron were at the kitchen table, burying their thoughts in a lighthearted, but intense, game of chess. Percy seemed to have been discussing some serious matter with their father, while Molly busied herself overdoing herself in her baking once more. Fred had remained at her side. She instantly noticed the absence of George, but decided it was not an appropriate time to mention it.

Her eyes glanced across once more, but before they could resume their gaze at her suddenly very interesting ice-caked boots, they locked with Ron's. Hermione instantly felt weak at the knees as the icy blue penetrated every barrier she put in its way. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, whether intentionally or not. His eyes especially had always been such pools of raw emotion. It was one of the things she so loved about him… one of the many things she just adored. His eyes now, however, had steel covering over them. They saw straight through her, but she couldn't hope to look back. She averted her gaze without surmising anything about what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted your evening…" Hermione said quickly, making to turn around and exit once more, but a hand on her arm stopped her. In the brief moment it had taken her to turn around, Ron had appeared at her side. He turned her around slowly, and gazed deep into her eyes.

"Don't go…" he said slowly. She couldn't tell for sure, but she thought she detected a hint of longing in his voice. "Please stay, Hermione. You don't have anyone to meet tonight for dinner, do you?"

"No…" she said slowly, slightly flustered at the question, as he knew quite well she wouldn't.

"It's settled then; you'll eat with us," he said seriously, guiding her to the table. "Would you care for a game of chess?"

"What? But we were still playing!" Bill protested.

"Good point," Ron said, sitting down. He moved his queen slightly to the left. "Checkmate. Hermione, _now _would you care for a game of chess?"

She giggled slightly and took Bill's quickly vacated seat as he sulked over to the fireplace with the others. "Sure."

The first five moves were made in complete silence, finally becoming a sort of silent challenge between them to speak first. Finally Ron consented to the unspoken dare.

"So…" He trailed off, searching for words. "How are you?"

"I'm all right," she replied. "And yourself?"

"All right…"

The conversation continued as such, rather forced the entire time. Every few minutes one or the other of them would make a weak attempt at humor, just to break the monotony of it all, but other than that they were robotic in their movements. Finally, Ron simply couldn't stand it anymore.

"What is wrong here? Can't we just act… normal or something? All this tension is killing me!"

Hermione broke into a grin at that point. That was the Ron she had always known, showing himself at last. "You're telling me…"

"Hey… D'you want to get out of here? I dunno, my parents decided they didn't see us enough anymore and planned a day where we could all be off work and be together… but it's been really boring so far, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind if we took off for a little while, as long as we were back in time for dinner."

"As long as you don't think they would mind…"

"Naw, let's go," he said as he handed her jacket to her, simultaneously sliding his on.

Ron led her to the door and held it for her; he placed a hand lightly on her waist as she walked through.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, standing uncomfortably over a meter apart. Hermione was torn, because as much as she wanted to move closer, even if not in a romantic way, just as a friend, she wasn't sure what he might think of such an action. She settled for moving two centimeters or so closer; she figured it wasn't enough for him to even notice never mind think through – it was Ron after all.

"So… Where are we going?" Hermione asked him a moment later.

"Not sure…" he said absentmindedly, as if going through a mental debate. "Where do you want to go?" he added a moment later, as if suddenly realizing that he was the one who lived there, after all.

"I don't care…" Their eyes met for a brief moment, nearly causing Hermione to stumble from the sheer power of it all. It felt like a vibe suddenly coursed through her and ignited a spark in her heart- a candle, which had long been out.

He turned away and looked down quickly, watching his feet as they continued their walk down the grassy slopes nearing town. "So… Er… Let's go… to the train. There's a nice train that makes a ring around town, and you can see some… nice… erm… trees… and stuff…"

Hermione smiled to herself. "Yes… That…" She swallowed. "That sounds quite nice."

They slowly made their way to the train station where they found a train boarding at that time. Quickly buying their tickets for a pound each, they boarded and set off to search for an empty compartment.

Hermione briskly walked down the hall, her head snapping back and forth as she glanced into each compartment without slowing her pace. Behind her, Ron was forced to utilize his long legs and work to keep up.

"Geez, Hermione, where's the fire?"

"I just want to get a compartment with a good view."

"It's a train. It moves. All of them will have good views," he said tactfully.

"But if they are full, we won't be able to see out the window," she replied, sounding as if this should be completely obvious. She vaguely wondered where Ron would sit, at her side, or across from her, but tried not to dwell on it – for she would find out soon enough.

Finally they found an empty compartment nearing the end of the train, and Hermione immediately slipped inside, taking a seat by the window. Ron took a seat at her side, safely ten or fifteen centimeters away. After just a moment, they felt the train begin to move slowly, and a voice came over the loudspeakers placed above the door and window.

"Good afternoon, passengers. I am Henry Clyde, your conductor this afternoon. I would like to ask at this time that everyone be seated, thank you." There was a click as the microphone turned off, and sure enough, moments later the train began to move with a rumble.

"So you've taken this ride before I presume?" Hermione said, more because she was desperate for conversation than that she actually cared.

"Mmm… A time or two…" he said absentmindedly, seeming quite interested with his hands.

Wow, how she loved his hands. They were… shapely. Masculine, but had that bit of Ron. He had two small freckles, slightly darker than the rest of his freckles on the knuckle of his pinky, on both sides. She recalled the time, so long ago, when she had discovered those freckles.

"I told you we shouldn't sneak out! Honestly, we are prefects, Ronald, we are supposed to be setting an example for the younger students. How good of examples would we be if we got caught hiding in a broom closet from Filch?"

"_We wouldn't get caught if you would just shut up…" he said through gritted teeth._

"_But-" she started, only to lose her voice to the hand that suddenly found its way over her mouth. "Grroff m'mth," she mumbled through his palm._

"_No. You'll only get us caught," he said in a loud whisper, quickly stopping as footsteps filled their ears._

_Even Hermione knew that this was when they were supposed to shut up. She stopped trying to talk and instead looked at Ron's hand, as if willing it to get off. She didn't mind it, really, but she did have a reputation to hold. His pinky was right under her nose, and her eyes swept along the lines of his fingers, memorizing each and every crease they held. Her eyes stopped at the twin freckles, one atop his knuckle, the other to the side of it…_

"_Hermione?"_

"_Oh, what? Sorry, I wasn't really paying atten-"_

_He chuckled, "I said we can probably go now."_

She noticed his hand had left its place over her mouth, only to reside on her waist, pulling her closer to him…

"Hermione," Ron said, looking at her with the traces of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"What?"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I don't particularly care about the impact that the Romans had on the construction of trains in Northern Europe."

"Oh but it's so fascinating. I mean, honestly, the way they-"

Suddenly her voice was muffled by Ron's lips, which had descended upon her own without warning. She pulled away, looking down into her lap uncertainly.

"Ron…"

"I'm sorry… I… Erm… I shouldn't have. I… I just… I'm sorry."

She caught his eye, and dared him not to look away. He accepted, and their eyes melted together. "Don't be sorry." And at that moment, she leaned in and kissed him. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered why she had pulled away the first time. She decided to blame it on the shock of it, and leave it at that. For the rest of the train ride, she didn't think about the scenery all too much.


End file.
